The Corpse Bride
by shutupbella
Summary: Victoria Vega is the sweet daughter of two, cynical aristocrats who are facing financial problems. Beck Oliver is a rebellious, young man born to a nouveau riche family who's in need of a girl to steer him in the right direction. But what happens when he accidentally ends up proposing to the recently deceased Caterina Valentine?
1. A Wedding

**A/N**: Look it's my second Victorious fanfic yay. Uh okay just a disclaimer, I do not own Victorious or The Corpse Bride. But they are fantastic things.

* * *

It seemed like the weather in this little town was always consistent-Beck Oliver had never seen a sky that wasn't gray and full of clouds, had never felt air that wasn't chilled and bitter to the touch. Even still, his parents were forever acting as if they were living in just the opposite. They were an optimistic couple, always looking on the bright side of things, which made people wonder how Beck was even related to them at all, despite their trademark striking eyes and deep olive skin. It wasn't that Beck was an unhappy person-he was just not as... pure as his family would have liked their precious only child to be. He was rebellious, with an unhealthy habit to go against whatever anyone else said and follow his own path. It was for these reasons that his parents had decided to go out and find him a wife-perhaps a good girl with a sturdy head on her shoulders would steer him straight.

* * *

On the other side of town resided yet another small family-a mother, a father, and two daughters with loose, dark brown ringlets and shiny deep eyes. However, they weren't nearly as happy as the Olivers in the slightest. On the outside, they was no denying that they were all beautiful-their daughters, Victoria and Katrina Vega, would have no trouble finding a husband at all. But their beauty was completely cancelled out by the bitterness that ran through their veins. The only thing that tied them together was the blood that they shared. The parents of the family had fallen out of love long ago-it was a wonder how they'd even fallen in love in the first place, if they had at all. The troubles they faced being together put a strain on all four of them. Katrina was ridden with vanity-deep down, she had a big heart, but her broken family had worn her cynical through the years; she filled the empty void in her heart with the love her parents had never shown her. This deep passion for herself left her undesirable in the eye of every suitor the Vegas came in contact with. Indeed, the only normal one of the four was Victoria, a tall, slender beauty with compassion for everyone, even her alienated parents and sister, in hopes that one day things would take a turn for the better.

The Vegas had been facing complications with money for the past few months, which obviously didn't do good for any of them. Somewhere inside her, Victoria hoped that this was maybe a diamond in the rough for them, that in this time, they would somehow become closer, thankful for the little that they had left. But of course, it just tore them further and further apart. The only time her parents even talked was when they arranged for Victoria to be married-apparently there was a wealthy, nouveau riche family with a son on the opposite side of their city in search for a wife. This was just another thing on Victoria's plate for her to stress about-after all, her parents had had an aranged marriage, and look how well that turned out. She certainly didn't want to be fighting with this man every day for the rest of her life. She'd had enough of fighting already.

But what was there that she could do? Her parents needed the money.

* * *

Beck stared down at the cobblestone streets several hundred feet below the sole window in his bedroom. It was a wide window, its stained panes framed with aged copper. It shed bland, white light inside his dark, cold square room. There wasn't much at all in here, just a bed with gray sheets, a discarded candlestick on the wooden floor, a small bookcase, and a chair. Nevertheless, he spent most of his time here, mostly reading or looking out the window as he was now.

He could hear his parents bustling around downstairs, their high voices rising up, though the words were muffled by the thick floors and walls. They'd been talking about this day for months now, the day of their son's wedding rehearsal, but frankly, Beck wanted nothing to do with it. He didn't need a wife to tie him down, to suck him dry of all his money... he could go on and on with the reasons why he didn't want to get married. At the very top of the list was that he didn't even know the girl. He was lucky that he knew her name-Victoria Vega, he'd been told. He didn't like how her name was an alliteration, but perhaps that was just his distaste for marriage talking.

He heard his name being called from the bottom of his long, winding staircase, and he had to curl his hands into fists to keep from screaming. He knew that no matter what he did, there was no way the wedding was going to be called off. God knows that he'd tried that already. So, stiffly, he marched down the staircase and joined his parents. His mother smiled warmly at him-he simply stared blankly back at her. Unfazed, she took his father's arm, and together, they entered the carriage awaiting them.

They rode steadily on for a while until Beck's mother finally broke the silence. "It's a beautiful day for a wedding," she proffered.

Beck scowled.

* * *

Victoria gasped sharply as her handmaid yanked at the strings at the back of her corset. In the mirror built into the vanity before her, she stared at herself, trying to focus on the reflections rather than her diminishing oxygen supply. She noticed deep bags beneath her eyes-ever since the announcement of her engagement, she'd had trouble sleeping, and last night, the night before her wedding rehearsal, had been the worst night of all. At least with the past few months, she'd had time-maybe something would come up. Maybe her parents would fall back in love, their family would be happy and the money would either miraculously show up or, in their happiness, it wouldn't matter at all. But now that the day was here, she was out of time, and she was going to be married to someone whom she hated and someone whom hated her, and she would end up just like her parents.

But she still tried to stay optimistic.

She couldn't help but notice with a heavy heart that her sister was nowhere to be found-in the hustle and bustle with all the wedding preparations the last couple of days-as many preparations as they could make with what they had left-she'd taken off with a damaging amount of money, to check into an inn, Victoria supposed, because she hadn't been home in a couple of nights. No matter how much she didn't want this wedding to happen, though, she wanted Katrina there, never mind the fact it had been years since they'd had a conversation that wasn't chock full of hostility, if there had ever been one in the first place.

Out of the corner of her eye, Victoria noticed some slight movement near her doorway. Upon looking up, she saw the stoic faces of her mother and father leering down at her from where they stiffly stood, a painful distance apart from each other. Victoria shoved the ache in her heart to where she couldn't feel it anymore and affixed a bright smile on her angular face. "Hello."

Her parents didn't say anything. She bit her lip and lowered her eyes to the floor.

A few seconds passed by in an uncomfortable silence. Victoria squirmed a bit in her seat, and her handmaid yanked harder on the strings. The girl squeaked once more, and her mother glared harder in her direction. "I'm a bit nervous," Victoria continued, grabbing her mother's attention while she still had it. She waited patiently, half-expecting her mother to flock to her side and rake her hands through her daughter's brown curls and ask why. But she stayed put, staring at Victoria like she'd done something wrong-the only look Victoria had ever known.

"I mean..." Victoria cleared her throat and fluttered her coal-black eyelashes. "...What if Beck and I don't... love each other?"

This shook a reaction out of her mother. She laughed so sharply and suddenly that Victoria startled a bit. "And why would that matter?" her mother asked darkly. "Do you think your father and I _love_ each other?"

Victoria blinked, her expression crumpling more and more as time passed. "...Well, surely you must," she whispered, "at least a little...?"

"Of course not," her parents snapped in unison. Her father turned his body away. "Hurry up," he ordered without a second thought to his words. "The Olivers should be here soon."

Her mother and father advanced down the hallway, passing large paintings of ancestors with grim faces, much like their own. They walked on opposite sides of the long corridors, but it was so quiet in the house that Mrs. Vega could hear her husband without having to strain her ears.

"It's a terrible day for a wedding," Mr. Vega muttered beneath his breath.

And for the first time in a long time, his wife agreed with him.


	2. The Piano

**A/N:** Sorry this chapter is so short. ): There wasn't much to it! More in the next. :)

* * *

The Vega manor didn't look too different from anything else Beck had grown up around in his lifetime. It was tall, bulky, and gray, stretched over acres of dried grass behind a wrought iron fence. The carriage took about two minutes to clear the long, winding cobblestone driveway before coming to a full stop in front of the large front doors. A man and a woman stood in front of them-Beck assumed that they were Victoria's mother and father-but his bride-to-be was nowhere to be found. Unlike his own parents, the Vegas didn't seem too excited about welcoming Beck into the family.

Good, he thought. He wasn't too excited to join it, either.

The Olivers left the carriage, yet the Vegas didn't advance any closer to them-they simply stood and stared judgingly from where they were on their front porch. Beck was fine with not talking to them either, but his mother quickly ran forward with open arms and a wide smile. His father anxiously scuttled behind her, and Beck brought up the rear after a heartbeat or so. He clasped behind his back politely, not in the mood at all to shake his new mother- and father-in-law hello. His parents, however, were already deep in conversation.

"And this is Beck," his mother beamed proudly, resting a hand on her son's elbow. Beck didn't smile or say a thing-neither did Victoria's parents. Even still, the Olivers didn't seem to be fazed by this. Beck's father rested his large hands on shoulders.

The Vegas turned towards the doors. "Victoria's in the house," Mr. Vega said passively.

In a clump, the mothers and fathers all traveled up the large staircase, the Vegas leading the way and the Olivers jumping up the steps to keep up. Beck lingered at the doorway, aching to make a break for it, yet he could still hear his mother's shrill voice chattering on and on about how nice a son Beck was, and how excited she was to meet the lovely Victoria. Beck mashed his lips together and studied the room he was in.

The Vegas' foyer was a large, empty space-there literally was nothing inside it except for the sweeping double staircase that met in a landing in the middle; several paintings of grimacing relatives; and a large, dusty grand piano with a dusty glass vase with a singular lavender flower sitting limply inside it. Beck made his way towards the instrument with slight interest and slid onto the wooden bench.

Beck had taken piano lessons as a child, but that was long ago-as he aged, his rebellious personality took more and more of the obedient little boy his parents knew. But even so, he couldn't deny how much he enjoyed the piano. He hadn't played since he'd quit, but he liked to think that he could remember how, at least a little bit. He hefted the lid off of the piano's ivory keys and rested his spindly fingers upon them.

For a while, he just fooled around, playing little tunes here and there, but soon he dove into a deep, melancholy tune. He closed his eyes and smiled to himself as he felt the music course through him, an undeniable high running through his veins that only music could give him-this is what he had missed. This was what made him feel good. He lost himself within the melody that wrapped around his swaying body, drinking in every single note he pounded into life.

Beck let his eyelids flutter open a bit. He watched as his fingers glided gently over the aged piano keys. His mother had always told him he'd had such "musical hands"-hands suited just for playing. Sometimes, he wished that he hadn't quit so early with such a longing that it hurt.

Out of the corner of his eye, something moved. He glanced over his shoulder to see a willowy girl with a bright, olive face, framed by soft brown curls. Her dark eyes watched him curiously, a tiny smile right beneath her sloped nose. "Hello," she whispered in a small voice.

Beck startled, causing an ugly dissonance of keys; the flower vase upended, and he cringed, expecting browned water to spill out. Luckily, it seemed like the plant had gone ages without any kind of nourishment whatsoever, and he simply guided it back into place with shaking, fumbling hands. He angled his head slightly towards the girl, focusing on her covered neck; the collar her aged maroon dress creeped all the way up to the center of her throat. "I..." He ran his tongue over his lips and raked a hand through his hair. "Forgive me."

The girl giggled. "It's fine," she replied in her low whisper once more, as if she raised her voice just a bit then she would get in trouble. Her hands folded politely in front of her, and courteously, Beck straightened his spine, stretching to his full height. She came up to about his cheekbones. "I'm Victoria," she continued. "I trust... you're Beck?"

Beck pressed his lips together and nodded. "Yes," he responded. "Yes, I am."

This was not what he thought his reaction was going to be at all. He was steeling himself for telling her that he, in fact, was not Beck, just because there was no way in hell that he was going to get married. But there was something about Victoria, something that intrigued him. Her beauty was simple, yet captivating.

Beck would never have admitted it, but maybe-just maybe-being married, at least to her, wouldn't be as bad as he thought it would be.


	3. The Rehearsal

Beck ended up talking to Victoria for a healthy amount of time. They sat next to each other on the piano bench, joking around and getting to know each other, though Beck noticed that she didn't say too much at all about her family. Frankly, he wasn't in the mood to talk about family, either-it wasn't like the Vegas had made the nicest impression, at least on him. Furthermore, Victoria didn't know how to play the piano, so it was mostly Beck playing small tunes in between conversations; Victoria joined in once in a while when Beck thought of an easy duet they could perform. After what seemed like eons, their parents flocked back to the foyer to announce that the rehearsal was just about to start.

That was what brought Beck's head out of the clouds. He had all but forgotten what he was here to do. He watched as his parents followed Victoria's up the stairs once more, two completely different couples altogether. While his mother was clinging to her husband, Victoria's parents couldn't look any more repusled to be in each other's presence. What could this mean for his own future? They came from entirely different worlds, different atmosphers, but of course, they were also completely different from their parents. But then again, he actually enjoyed having her around.

He wished he could just stop worrying about the future.

"Coming?"

Beck looked up. Victoria had risen from the bench and, with another one of her sweet smiles, was offering one of her small hands. Beck gave her a watery smile back and clasped her fingers firmly in his, and together, they followed their mothers and fathers up the staircase.

* * *

The wedding rehearsal was performed in a small, empty room at the end of a long, dark hallway. Just like Beck's bedroom, there was only one window that let in the soft gray light from the outside. and also like Beck's bedroom, it allowed a view of the quiet streets below. In front of this was the makeshift altar, construced from a rickety wooden table and an off-white, threadbare sheet.

The priest that had shown up for the occasion was tall and thin, with a pronounced hunchback and an intimidating scowl. He narrowed his eyes at Beck the most, unless that was just his nervous imagination making things up.

No, it probably was not his nervous imagination making things up. After all, he was the one who was making the whole rehearsal a lot longer and harder than it had to be; he was the one who couldn't get a hold of this damn candle ritual.

Beck pressed his lips together and discreetly snuck a glance at Victoria. She was watching her fiance as well, and she looked nervous for him, holding her candle closely to her chest.

"Mr. Oliver," the priest growled slowly through clenched teeth, "from the beginning..._ again._" He cleared his throat and switched his gaze back and forth from Beck to Victoria. "'With this hand, I shall lift your sorrows,'" he recited, reminding the two of the words they were to say to each other. "'Your cup will never empty, for I will be your wine. With this candle, I will light your way in darkness. With this ring, I ask you to be mine.'" He punctuated the vow with a sharp glare in Beck's direction. "Let's try it again."

Beck swallowed, his throat scratchy and dry. "Yes," he agreed in a low voice. He wished the priest would stop grimacing at him. It was difficult enough to get all the words memorized. Couldn't he see that he wanted this to be over and done with just as much as everyone else did? And why did there have to be such a fuss over marriage, anyways? Couldn't he just call Victoria his wife and his family could share money and whatnot, and that would be that?

Beck stepped forward to the already-lit candle that sat upon the altar, holding out the wick of his own into the flame. "With this candle..." He pulled it away, hoping to see that the fire had caught, but unfortunately, it had not, just like every other time. He frowned and put it back. "...This candle..."

This repeated several times more; the impatient voices of the Vegas and Olivers behind him and the angry shade of red creeping into the priest's face didn't make him feel any more at ease. Even Victoria's supportive smile made Beck want to crawl under the table and die. He didn't want to do this. He didn't want to do this at all.

At long last, Beck finally got the thing lit. He held it up to his face in satisfaction and breathed a sigh of relief.

However, that sigh was the killer of the flame's life. Even Beck's parents couldn't help but groan in disappointment. He had to bite his lip to keep from snapping the candlestick in half.

The priest seemed like he was having trouble controlling his temper as well. "Continue," he hissed passively. "Just never mind the candle."

A low bell rang throughout the house. "Get the door," Mr. Vega barked to the butler standing in the corner. Instantaneously, he scuttled away, and just as quickly as he left, he was back.

"A Lord James for you, sir," he announced coolly. A heartbeat later, a tall young man with brown hair strode in, a smug glint shining in his eyes.

"I thought the wedding was today," the man began in an airy voice, "but I've just found out that I'm a day early." He pulled a piece of paper out of his jacket and handed it to Mr. Vega. Beck saw his parents craning their necks from where the sat on the opposite side of the room to see what it was.

Mr. Vega studied it for a moment before Mrs. Vega snatched it out of his hands. Mr. Vega, for once, didn't mind his wife and turned to Lord James with a suspicious raise of his eyebrow. "Just an early wedding present," the man clarified. He lowered himself into a seat next to them like he'd been invited. To Beck and Victoria, he said, "Please continue."

Beck couldn't take his eyes off of Lord James-there was something about him that made him curious-and apparently, Victoria thought so, too. But the priest cleared his throat and gruffly carried on. "Let's try it again," he said angrily, "unless you've other plans, _Mr. Oliver_."

Beck turned his attention back to the throat and shook his head once. "No, sir," he replied despondently. He moistened his lips and raised his right hand, clutching the candle with his other. "With this..." His voice faltered. What was the next word? He could feel sweat collecting at his hairline once more. "This..."

"Hand," the priest stressed. This was just not his day, or anyone's day, really.

"With this hand," Beck repeated quickly, as if he'd known all along. Victoria placed her fingers against his and together, they neared the altar. "I will-"

He collided with the table. The priest nearly snapped his staff in two. "Three steps!" he cried. "Three! Do you not wish to be married?"

"No!" Beck answered instinctively, recovering clumsily from his accident.

Victoria took a step back, her face crumpling slightly. "You don't...?"

Beck turned to her worriedly. "No," he said in a calmer voice, "I meant that... I don't not want to be married. I mean, I really want to marry-"

"Pay attention!" the priest interrupted, glowering at Beck. If looks could kill, Beck would be long gone. "I'll bet you didn't even bring the ring," he added condescendingly.

"Of course I did," Beck replied. "It's right... here." With a quick snap of his wrist, he produced the golden wedding band from his jacket. In the same movement, though, he released it from his grasp. Everyone watched in horror as it rolled away and beneath the long skirt of Mrs. Vega's dress.

Without thinking, Beck dove for it immediately, reaching his hand beneath her reddish gray garments to retrieve the ring. "Don't worry," he assured everyone. "I... have it!" He held it up with a smile.

Soon enough, however, his moment of triumph was swiftly ended-the smell of smoke wafted up to his nose, as did the shrill screams of everyone in the room. Beck turned his eyes down in fright; sure enough, he had set fire to Mrs. Vega's dress with his candle while reaching for the ring. Immediately, everyone flocked to her, trying to stamp out the flames. The whole room was filled with nervous shouts, when suddenly, a loud bang overcame it all.

With a broom, Lord James had smacked out the flames with one blow. Everyone turned to look at him in the sudden hush; nonchalantly, he retreated to the corner of the room where he had found the broom in the first place.

Suddenly, the priest broke the silence. "That's it!" he erupted, yelling at the top of his lungs in his booming, fearful voice. "We will not have this wedding until Mr. Oliver is ready to get married! I've wasted enough of my time here watching him mess everything up!" He stopped to give everyone a stern look before approaching Beck. Beck froze as the priest's looming shadow ate up his entire body. "Young man," the priest said in a low, menacing voice, "_learn your vows_."

It seemed like everyone in the room was scowling at Beck with such a hatred that Beck had never known in his life. Without turning around, he backed out of the room and bolted out of the Vega manor.


	4. The Proposal

Later that evening, Beck still had not returned home. It had turned dark about a half hour ago, but he had no intent on calling it a night just yet; rather, he was wandering the woods that stretched along the perimeter of his town. He wasn't at all worried about getting lost-as a rather lonely child, he spent a lot of his time in these forests, and during his later years, he escaped to the trees whenever he disagreed with something his parents told him to do. He knew his way around very well. What did bother him, however, was the thoughts of the wedding rehearsal that still attacked his mind-his eardrums hadn't stopped ringing since the priest had ceased his loud scolding. He could see the disappointed facees of everyone in that small room at the Vega manor, and every time he thought of them, he felt the shame all over again. And no matter how hard he tried, he could not push the memory away.

Beck had decided that he was going to stay out here until he memorized his vows, or at least until the shame washed away. So, he figured he'd be out here for quite a while. Anyways, it wasn't really like he wanted to go back home-he was sure his parents were still angry at him. He had done some pretty dumb things before, but this was by far the worst transgression he could have committed.

He now was leaned over the stone railing of a bridge stretched over a calm, black river. He watched the round, full white moon reflected on its glasssy surface, rippled slightly at the edges as a bitter, gentle breeze passed overhead. He heaved a sigh and buried his face in his hands. He just wanted to feel better. But what were you supposed to do to make yourself feel better in a depressing, gray town like this one? Perhaps playing piano would ease his mind, but for one, it wasn't like a piano just grew randomly out of the ground when he needed it to. Even so, he didn't really feel like playing now to begin with.

The image of Victoria's heart-shaped face flashed in his mind, smiling gently at him, and that just made him feel worse. God only knew what he thought of her now-she probably was rolling over in her bed in anguish at the thought that she was to be married to such a clumsy fool. He let out another heavy breath, furrowing his brow and closing his eys at the sky. She was really so beautiful, and so sweet and kind. He truly did not deserve her. He knew that marriage was a bad idea. It just caused a lot of unnecessary pain. He was perfectly fine with his life before Victoria.

Of course, now that he actually knew what his wife-to-be was like, he didn't want to imagine life without her. It was a vicious cycle. Beck curled his long, slender fingers into tight fists and stalked off of the stone bridge, venturing deeper into the woods.

What was so difficult about memorizing a few simple words, especially after an angry priest pressed them into his head over and over? He reached into his jacket pocket and studied the ring once more. It was a simple circle of gold, nothing too special. Why did people make such a big deal out of it? He shook his head and put it back.

"With this hand..." he muttered underneath his breath, but once again, he find himself at a loss for words. What came next? With one liquid movement, he slammed his fist into a tree, ignoring the searing pain the flooded through his arm when he was through. "It's not that hard, Beck," he barked into the night air. He massaged his aching hand and progressed on through the trees. In the moonlight, they looked like people with skinny, crooked arms reaching up into the sky. Just to humor himself, Beck positioned himself next to one of them and limply raised his arms. Trees had it so easy. No one expected much out of them. But then again, they were targets for firewood, and because they were rooted into one place for their whole lives, which was a problem within itself, they had no means of protest whenever someone came after them with a big, sharp axe. Beck lowered his arms and continued on. Maybe it was a good thing that he wasn't born a tree.

Beck spent a while longer-he wasn't too sure how long-weaving slowly around trees and reciting the vow to himself; more accurately, he was practicing his tone of voice, considering he only was able to get up to "With this ring." He put on silly accents sometimes, and wondered for a brief moment if this was even doing him any good. It probably was not, but it made him feel like he was doing something important, something that made all this time he was spending out here worthwhile.

Beck decided to take a different approach, starting with another line instead of the ring. "With this candle," he began, but once again, he couldn't find the words that came after. He glowered at his feet, stopping next to a particularly jagged tree. "I will set your mother on fire," he muttered bitterly, plopping down on a stray log. He rested his chin in his hand. Why, of all families, did the Vegas have to choose the Olivers to share lives with? It wasn't like there weren't any other rich families in the town to restore their bank accounts. And it was painfully obvious that Beck was just not cut out for the married life.

So, why were they doing this to him?

Beck produced the ring from his pocket once more and stared down at it. He wasn't going to make any progress if he wasn't willing to try, and it was clear that there was no way of getting out of this marriage business. He forced himself onto his feet and stared squarely at nothing in particular, imagining the priest standing right in front of him. He made his eyes strong and steely, as if to say, Ha, look what I can do.

"With this hand," Beck announced with a newfound strength, "I will lift your sorrows. Your cup will never empty, for I will be your wine." He mischievously searched around before turning to the jagged tree as though it were a real person. "Mrs. Vega," he purred, "might I say that you look just beautiful this evening?" He hurried over to a thicker tree a few feet away and wrapped his arm around it. "Care to repeat that, Mr. Vega?" he continued, leaning his ear close to the tree's bark. "You want me to call you 'Dad'? Well, I suppose I must obey."

Beck snapped a branch off of the Mr. Vega tree and lowered it to a small thorn sticking out of the tree's side. "With this candle," he recited, "I will light your way in darkness."

Finally, he held up the ring once more. "With this ring," he proclaimed at the top of his lungs, "I ask you..." His eyes scanned the forest floor before settling on a branch protruding from the ground that oddly resembled a hand offering its fingers.

"...to be mine," he finished proudly. He stood back and admired the glint of the ring on the hand-branch. It really did look splendid; though plain, it was breathtaking, not much unlike Victoria herself. Yes, he believed that he was truly ready.

Suddenly, the gentle breeze become stronger and stronger. Within a few short seconds, Beck could hear nothing but, and was chilled to the bone. His jacket was not enough to protect him from the cold. The hand-branch snapped back and curled around his wrist. He could feel an unidentifiable pressure building up at the back of his throat-whether it was a scream, a gasp, or vomit, he couldn't tell, but whatever it was, it refused to come out. The hand pulled him into the ground, and his face slammed hard against a tree root. No matter how hard he tried to wrench away, the hand would not let go.

Finally, he broke free, stumbling backwards quite a few feet. The branch was still locked tightly to his wrist, but at closer inspection it was not a branch at all. It was more like a skeletal arm from the elbow down. Beck held it out in front of him as far away as he could get it. He opened his mouth, trying to get the scream to erupt from his lungs, but the more he tried, the drier his throat seemed. A raggedy hiss came from him instead, and he shook his hand around, hoping that the skeleton would release. But it was as if someone had sewn the damn thing onto him.

Before he could do anything more about the hand, he saw the ground beginning to shake where he had originally found the hand. It pulsed, as if it was breathing, until it cracked open. Another hand emerged as something-or someone-gained leverage on the ground in order to pull itself out of where it had been resting. Beck couldn't do anything but tremble and watch in horror.

In front of him stood a girl with a dirty veil flung over her scarlet hair. She wore a tattered, lacy dress that spilled over the ground all around her. In one patch of her bodice, there was a hole that led straight down to her ribcage.

Slowly, the girl removed the veil from her face. Her eyelids sprung open to reveal wide, brown eyes that seemed to glow in the dark. She stared at Beck for a while as the breeze slowed down. She parted her lips with a bit of a struggle, as if she hadn't spoken in forever. Beck could barely hear what she was saying over his racing heartbeat.

"I do."


	5. Newlyweds

Beck stared up in wonderment at the girl's decaying face, trying to make sense of what had just happened; of what was happening at that exact moment. He supposed that, considering of everything he'd just witness, he'd proposed to a dead girl who'd proceeded to crawl out of the ground and accept his offer.

You know. The usual.

The girl watched him, expectantly, as if to say, What do we do now?

Beck knew what he was going to do. He pushed himself off of the ground and onto his buckling legs as best as he could and darted away, screaming for his life. He tripped over a log and landed roughly on his elbow, making his arm twist in a way that probably should not have happened. A white hot rush surged through his system for a moment, and he cried out in pain before forcing himself back onto his feet and running farther and farther from the girl. Still, no matter how loud he screamed or how far he ran, he could still hear her footsteps, slow and steady on the firm ground as she followed after.

But he supposed it made sense. After all, he still had her arm.

He ran for what seemed like a thousand years until he couldn't run anymore. He stopped, hunched over with his palms pressed against his knees. His throat and chest felt like they were on fire, and he was almost sure that he was going to be sick. He probably would have been if he hadn't seen the red-haired girl slowly coming towards him once more, her ruined veil flowing around her face as she blinked her coal-black eyelashes at him in wonderment. He let out another scream, broken and shrill in his overused voice, and he escaped once more.

Beck didn't slow down until he reached the bridge. Silence fell all around him, save for his thrumming heartbeat and his heavy breathing. He scanned the part of the woods that he had emerged from; he didn't see the red-haired girl anymore. He was safe now.

But when he turned around, he saw her large, worried brown eyes staring back at him.

She didn't say anything for a long time. Beck, too tired to run anymore, simply backed into the stone railing in fear. He pressed his body up against its coldness, trying to get as far away from her as possible.

This had to be a dream. Corpses didn't just come out of the ground like that.

Slowly, she reached forward. Beck froze as she peeled her skeletal hand off of his wrist. He shut his eyes tightly; he couldn't bear to watch her stick it back on. Maybe that was all she wanted. Maybe, now that she had her hand back, she would leave him alone.

He felt the coldness of her ten fingers through the fabric of his jacket as she pressed up against his chest.

"You may kiss the bride," she whispered, her icy breath playing on his face.

And then everything went black.

* * *

The first thing Beck saw when he came to were two faces-the red-haired girl and a skeleton. He jerked away from both and instinctively began to crawl backwards. The girl caught him before he could make his escape, though, wrapping a cold, bony hand around the nape of his neck to cushion his head a bit, and he was still too woozy to get up and run away properly.

"How'd this one end up here?" the skeleton asked curiously.

The red-haired girl refused to take her eyes off of Beck, studying his face curiously. "I think he fainted," she simpered in a high voice. She reached for his face with a free hand and stroked along his cheekbone gently. He felt nauseous once more. "Poor dear," she murmured. "Are you alright?"

Beck made no answer. Instead, he stared up harshly at the girl. She had a deep, hollow gash in one cheek, and her face was completely drained of color. Well, that was a lie. There was a slight bluish tint to her pale skin. Her makeup was smeared all over, and her face was a bit dirty, like she'd smudged some mud along her jawline for good measure.

Beck pushed himself onto his feet in an attempt to get away from the girl. The room he was in suddenly filled with chatter from a crowd of people in the center, if you could call them people at all. Some were blue and dirty, like the girl, and others were skeletons.

"He's alright!" one skeleton announced, pointing a finger in Beck's direction. Scattered cheers erupted all over the room.

"Alright then," another contributed. "A toast, then. To the newly weds!" As if on cue, everyone upended a grimy-looking cup over their faces and poured a mysterious liquid down their throats. Beck noted sickly that he could see it slide down their system, considering most everyone had patches of skin missing here and there, exposing the bone in that place.

Where the hell was he?

Wait. Something seemed off.

"Newlyweds?" he repeated, furrowing his brow and looking around at everyone. It seemed like no one had heard him, and he was about to ask someone when something latched onto his arm. He startled at turned to see the red-haired girl nuzzling up to his bicep.

"In the woods," she reminded him, fluttering her eyelids at him. She extended her left hand. "You recited your vows perfectly," she added with a smile of her bow-shaped lips.

Beck wrenched his arm away from her. "I did?" he muttered. He held onto his suddenly aching head and slid into a chair near the bar, far away from everyone else. He rested his forehead on the tabletop and moaned loudly, a guttural noise beginning at the back of his throat. If this was a dream-no, this was a dream-he would very much like to wake up right about now.

He felt something tickling his hair. When he looked up, he saw a severed head resting on a bunch of beetles grinning at him. "What would you like to eat?" the head offered. "Don't snack too much-your wedding feast is about to be served. We're celebrating in style!"

Beck screamed. The red-haired girl came next to him once more. "What is it, darling?" she crooned. Before Beck could shove her away again, her eyeball flopped clean out, and a rather large maggot made its way out.

"Did someone say wedding feast?" it asked excitedly. "I've hadn't had a bite to eat in days."

Beck gasped so sharply that it hurt his throat. The girl shoved her eyeball back in place like it was no big deal. "Do forgive me," she apologized. "He never learns about interrupting. I'll have a chat with him later. But for now..." She leaned in for another kiss. Beck shoved away from the bar, and she fell forward a bit; her eyebrows crooked confusedly as she watched her husband run from her.

"Stay away!" he yelled at her, backing into the crowd. "Don't touch me!" He looked around before settling his gaze on the handle of a sword, but upon swinging it, he realized that it went straight through the torso of a skeleton in an army suit.

"Stay back," he growled in the toughest voice he could manage. "I've got a general, and I'm not afraid to use him. Now, I want some questions."

"Answers," the general corrected.

Beck frowned. "What?"

"You mean you want some answers," the general replied.

Beck didn't reply and glared all around. "So?" he prompted after a second or two of silence. "Who wants to go first?"

"What do you want to know?" a little blue lady asked meekly from the front of the crowd.

"What the hell is all of this?" Beck spat. "Where are we? Who are you all?"

No one spoke for a while again. Finally, Beck sighed and glared at the red-haired girl, who was watching him with sad brown eyes at the edge of room. She was picking worriedly at her veil. He pointed the general towards her.

"That's kind of a funny story?" she replied unsurely.

Beck opened his mouth, ready to yell at her again, when a voice sounded at the back of the bar.

"Did somebody say story?"

All attention was directed to a tall, gangly skeleton, with limbs so loose Beck was sure that they were going to fall off. However, he couldn't help but lower the general, curious.

"I'm great at telling stories," the skeleton claimed with a grin. "Please, allow me."


End file.
